Something Wicked
by Lady Black Mage
Summary: Legends of the Sacrier Katar are still told among the disciples of the Lady of Pain. But legends start to become myth, and the facts fade from the story, leaving whatever is left over to be contested by historians and scribes. Really, who was Katar, and what did he go through that caused Sacrier to turn her face from him before he became possessed by Médoroziam? [M for violence.]
1. Prelude

**A/N: Naturally this is where I throw out the disclaimer that Wakfu, the World of Twelve, Katar, and Atcham all belong to Ankama and not to myself. The OCs appearing in this prelude belong to myself and a friend, and are a partial plug for a separate fanfiction in which those characters are the main focus (and will not appear again afterward.) A lot of the story is headcanoned and made solely for the purpose of I selfishly wanted to give Katar his own story prior to being possessed by Médoroziam and killing Goultard's family, so there you have it.**

* * *

 _Not all monsters of the darkest design are born colored so, but fall under shadow without warning..._

The young Iop knight looked up at the faded, crumbling mosaic on the wall, her green eyes wide as she read the red-and-black inscription. Something about the art gave her chills and it wasn't just the words "remember the Forsaken, lest he rise again." The Sacrier warrior depicted in the mosaic looked crazed, euphoric with bloodlust and a frenzy that belonged on a battlefield, not at the slaughter of innocents. Avis shuddered; it didn't feel right.

"Hey, what's wrong, Fire-ball?" A kind voice said softly nearby, trailing off as its owner drew near and looked up at the mosaic in horror beside her. Avis couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from the sinister art, not even to regard the Eniripsa she valued as an elder sister figure. The image of the wild-eyed Sacrier was somehow too mesmerizing, even as horrifying as it was.

"Jadir," Verenia found her voice, raising it to catch the attention of their two other traveling companions, "What is this...?"

As one the two women turned, glancing over their shoulders at the Sadida and the Sacrier as they inspected a rare plant growing in the ruin. Cypress looked up first, blinking in surprise as he turned away from the plant, cradling some of its seeds in his palms. Jadir tensed visibly before half-turning in their direction, his fierce eyes immediately locking onto the wall. Slowly he straightened up and marched resolutely toward them, Cypress hesitantly following in his wake.

"It's a monument." Jadir spoke much more calmly and softly than normal, a thickness of emotion in his voice none of them were familiar with. "A reminder, and not a nice one."

Cypress tipped the seeds from his hands somewhat clumsily into a pouch as he stared up at the mosaic and murmured, "It looks warped, twisted... and sad."

"Not to mention just plain _wrong_..." Avis added.

Jadir nodded slowly, gaze never wavering. "It's supposed to be that way, so we don't forget."

"Forget what?" Avis asked, turning to look at him.

"Katar the Forsaken." He replied, and the words seemed to echo and whisper around the old chamber unnaturally. "He's not quite passed into myth, but he's a legend out of my people's history, and not exactly one we enjoy remembering. His evil is a stain on my people's honor and we all have to carry the shame in our hearts. The mosaics of his story are few and scattered, but every one of us makes a pilgrimage to learn the story by the time we enter adulthood."

"And what is the story?" Verenia asked, looking back up at the wall, her doe eyes studying the shape of Katar.

"A lot of the details are either unknown or lost to time." Jadir replied. "But we know that Katar was born to a small village ruled over by an ambitious lord, and he was an orphan. He had raw talent as a fighter even when he was young, coupled with a very strong sense of justice, and when he entered adolescence he was recruited to the guard of the lord's family. In fact, some people who retell the story put him close in age to the lord's son, and say that Katar bonded with him like a brother. Others say the boy and Katar grew to be enemies and there were things occurring behind the scenes to spur the hatred. Issue is, nobody's certain about whether it was one way or another; Katar made several notable enemies and rivals. But he was with the guard from thirteen years on and gained a reputation as a loyal and vicious fighter eager to prove his worth and protect not only the family he served, but also the people of his hometown."

A quiet settled over the companions as they absorbed the story, each looking up at the wicked image of the pale Sacrier and trying to see if they could spot hints of this person he used to be hidden somewhere in his mosaic. Unfortunately the artist appeared not to have concerned themselves with the beginning of the story, and thus left no traces of such an upstanding young warrior in the piece. Cypress continued to look on in bewilderment until it became evident Jadir was no longer forthcoming with the story, and the young Sadida turned to give his friend an inquiring look.

"So then what happened? What changed?" He prompted, only to get a helpless shrug.

"Nobody is totally sure." Jadir murmured, crossing his arms as he bowed his head. "At the most we have vague guesses, but none that our historians agree on. We just know that one day Katar started ruthlessly slaughtering everyone that had known him. It was a complete about-face, and many people think he was possessed. He killed almost the entire town with some unholy relish, and the stories say he especially took his time with the deaths of the Eniripsas he could get his hands on."

Verenia immediately shuddered in fear and took a few steps back, her eyes wide.

"Jay, that's not funny!" Cypress snapped as he placed himself between her and their Sacrier companion like a shield.

"I'm not joking." The reply was cold and edged like a sword. "From what we do know, much of the tale of Katar's life before he started killing was told _by_ an Eniripsa, one who had known him as a child. Nobody knows how or why she survived, but she was the one who told the tale, so perhaps the goddesses both intervened directly to save her."

"The goddess Eniripsa _and_ the goddess Sacrier?" Avis asked in surprise. "I didn't think they ever really saw eye-to-eye on most things?"

"If that's truly the case and yet they both saved her, then they must have wanted to ensure history wouldn't repeat itself." Cypress remarked in awe before returning his attention to the mosaic. "But then... did Sacrier disown Katar? Is that why he is so...unmarked? Is that why you call him forsaken?"

Jadir didn't look up but grunted and gave a near-imperceptible nod.

"But if the goddess disowned him," Avis spoke up again, clearly perplexed, "shouldn't she have taken away his powers?"

"His hemomancy, you mean?" Jadir prompted. "That's become as much a racial gift as it is an endowment from Sacrier. But at the same time, I think she may have chosen to strip him of his marks but still leave him with some of his power; she's the goddess of pain and mortality. All things live and die, and all things both feel and inflict pain. Maybe she planned on him suffering somehow for his sins after she turned her face from him? I don't know, and I'm not sure it's my place to know; I don't presume to understand the whims of the gods..."


	2. Areore

_All things live and die, thus all things can both feel and inflict pain._

* * *

The morning had started simple enough for local healer Henda. Routine had woken her before sunrise to make breakfast for her children and herself, and as they ate she would assign small chores to each of them. Estora, the Sadida girl she had taken in some years previously, was to watch and clean the kitchen throughout the day, while the little Enutrof Pesh would help Henda with the washing and hanging out of the clothes. Bandi the Osamodas, nearing adolescence as he was, had the job that day of practicing "running shop"; he was to deliver any potions and tonics the townsfolk were in need of, as well as helping any visitors who came to their shop-home to find what they needed.

This of course, left Henda's own daughter and the Sacrier boy to head to the market and buy some more herbs Henda required for some tonics. And apparently that was where the day went wrong.

Bandi came running pell-mell out of the back door of the house before doubling over to catch his breath, startling both Henda and Pesh. The little Enutrof boy let out a small squeak and tumbled off the stool he was standing on, landing in the soft grass.

"Bandi, what's wrong? What's happened?" Henda asked, worried.

"I-it's Katar," the adolescent gasped. "He's gotten in a fight."

The Eniripsa woman froze, her gossamer-thin wings going rigid. "Is Serena–"

"She's fine, she's okay." Bandi gave a violent nod. "She came and found me."

Henda sucked in a deep breath, tossed the garments she had in her hands back in the woven basket, and helped Pesh to his feet again. Taking a second to compose herself, she looked back at her eldest adoptive son and gave a slow, tense nod. Without needing a word of direction, Bandi straightened up and darted back to the open door, signaling for her to follow.

"Pesh, wait here with Estora," she murmured as she pulled the small child into the kitchen.

"Aww, but I wanna see the fight!" he immediately pouted, and it was this that caught the Sadida's attention. She turned around and regarded them with large, curious brown eyes.

"A fight? Mama Henda, what's going on?"

"Don't worry about it right now," she said dismissively, following Bandi through the house and out of the shop-entrance. The Osamodas broke into a trot once they reached the well-beaten dirt path that served as the town's street, and Henda fell a few paces behind him. It didn't take long to reach the scene; right in the middle of the town square where the crumbling fountain stood, three boys were sprawled. They all seemed around the same age, and each of them were groaning and trying to pick themselves back up. A fourth boy stood off to the side, wobbling slightly as a petite Eniripsa girl hovered near him fretfully.

"Katar!" Henda called out his name sharply, and the Sacrier turned slightly to look at her, fair eyes regarding her expression somewhat dolefully. Serena turned to her mother and anxiously tugged on Katar's arm, urging him away from the spot. Thank the goddess too, for there were definitely people staring.

"Hey, Henda!" someone called out. "Keep a leash on that animal, would you?"

"Terribly sorry, terribly sorry!" she apologized without looking to see who all was watching. As Serena drew near, dragging her adoptive brother with her, Henda leaned in close and whispered. "Take Katar back home. Bandi and I will be back shortly; I want to take a look at these boys first."

Serena nodded compliantly before murmuring to Katar, "Come on, let's _go_ ," and giving his arm another insistent tug. He followed a bit reluctantly, and his expression seemed more than a little sour as Henda swept past them to look over the boys he had been fighting.

* * *

"Katar…" the Eniripsa groaned, gently dabbing a pumice on the boy's swollen black eye. "Can't you go _anywhere_ without getting in a fight somehow?"

"Wasn't my fault," he mumbled resolutely. "Told them to leave Serena alone. They didn't. Besides, it wasn't like she was gonna fight 'em."

Serena looked up at her mother guiltily, sniffling as she fought back tears. "It's true though, Mama…" she whimpered.

"Shush, dear." Henda clucked her tongue as she continued to dab at Katar's eye. "Katar still knows better and shouldn't have done it. It will only cause trouble for all of us in the long run."

"But if we don't stand up to people like that," he protested, "they'll just walk all over us."

The healer raised her eyebrows, surprised by the comeback. Katar had joined their little ragamuffin family two years ago, a shivering, half-starved and nearly mute child abandoned in the dead of winter. He had been extraordinarily grateful but unusually quiet and rarely aggressive for a Sacrier. Now it seemed the more combative nature of his people was beginning to at last surface, though she hadn't quite expected it to be tempered by snippets of intuitive wisdom.

"Quite right," she agreed a bit reluctantly. "But there is a time and a place for fighting, Katar, and this certainly isn't it."

He fell silent, rescinding into quiet sulking and crossing his arms. Henda knew he didn't agree with her, but in time he would see the wisdom of her words and at least for the moment he wasn't putting up an argument. She continued treating him while Serena watched quietly.

It wasn't very fair, Serena felt, to chastise Katar in a way that detracted from the good he had done for her. He had only been trying to protect her from bullies, and even if he had been hurt in the process, he had made a point that hit home with the other kids. They would never bother Serena again, that was for sure. But as she watched her mother treat her foster brother, she could see how the reprimand was wounding his pride.

This was probably a Sacrier thing, she felt certain, for they seemed to regard fighting as an art form the same way her mother said Iops did. She was going to be a healer like her mother one day and wouldn't ever truly understand, but she had been by Katar's side almost ceaselessly since he'd come into their lives. If she understood anything, it was her foster brother's feelings and his pain.

Later that night, Serena crawled up to the loft where Katar slept, hoping to have a moment alone to thank him. Luckily he was quite awake despite pretending he wasn't; he was lying too still and his ears had given a telltale twitch when she climbed up.

"Katar?" she said hesitantly, and when he didn't respond, she added, "I know you're awake."

Reluctantly he rolled over to face her, pale eyes swollen and puffy.

"Have you been crying?" she asked in surprise.

"No!" he mumbled in stubborn denial. "Whaddya want?"

"I just wanted to say thank you," she whispered in a guilty way, ducking her head and not meeting his gaze. "For standing up for me like that. I never would have been able to do it all on my own. And it was really kind of scary… I didn't want you to get hurt, especially not 'cause of me. But you did it anyway, so they wouldn't pick on me."

A long pause followed as the two children resolutely didn't look at one another. Finally Katar mumbled in a somewhat sulky voice, "You're my sister. 'smy job to look out for you."

"But Mama doesn't like it when you get in fights," she murmured. This however was the wrong thing to say as he pulled a face and rolled back onto his other side, showing his back to her. She watched as he crossed his arms and curled into a ball, his ears lowering moodily. The little Eniripsa chewed her lower lip, her stomach churning in remorse as she watched him.

"Sorry…" she whispered after a moment. "But thank you for saving me."

The little Sacrier's ears lifted a fraction but otherwise he didn't respond. After a few more minutes when it became obvious he wasn't going to say or do anything further, Serena let out a low sigh and turned away to climb back down the lofts ladder. Katar's ears lifted just a tiny bit higher as he listened to her go. His eyes roved over the rough-hewn wall and low ceiling that hung over his bed, not really seeing what was there. A breeze outside rustled through the branches of the trees, prompting a small shudder from the boy as he burrowed under his covers.

Silently he had wished for hours that Mama Henda had yelled or gotten angry with him. The gentle disappointment felt worse, far worse. It had sunk deep into him and he wasn't sure how to get rid of it. He felt sorry for having fought, sorry for getting in trouble, and sorry for disappointing his foster mother. But worse still, it made him feel worthless and stupid, a waste of space.

He had gotten into a fight because it was the solution that seemed natural, that had made the most sense at the time. And to an extent, Katar realized he had enjoyed it. A wild, breathless feeling had rushed through him as he fought, and with each blow he felt stronger and stronger, like he could never be beaten. When it was over he had been somewhat upset it had ended so soon but one look at Serena had put things back into perspective. But between her fright and Henda's disappointment in him, he had cried to himself, wishing he had never been born a Sacrier.

But if he wasn't a Sacrier, what was he? Was he even Katar?

Serena's quiet gratitude however, had lit his insides with a gentle warmth and as he shut his eyes, a few more tears, happy tears now, escaped him. His foster sister's reassurance began to lull him back to sleep.

Maybe at least, he wasn't a waste of space after all.


	3. Scherzando Misterioso

_Friendship isn't something that you enter into like a contract; it is spontaneous and happens as inevitably as sunrise and sunset._

* * *

"Move it, wouldja?! These are the streets, people are walking here!"

Katar couldn't quite fight back a scowl as they were shunted to the side and the Enutrof who snapped at them brushed past grumpily. The young Sacrier's pale eyes followed the old woman's progress and he surged with indignant anger. How could someone be so _rude_ , especially to a healer? Henda had come to this city to help someone who needed a skilled Eniripsa's ministrations, and it rankled Katar that the people they had encountered so far had barely shown Henda and her children a shred of decency, let alone basic kindness. But he kept quiet; his adoptive parent didn't seem to mind, and he didn't want to upset her, not after she had reprimanded him for that fight the week before.

"Come along, you lot!" she spoke in a chipper voice, evidently oblivious as she herded the five of them along the street toward a house. It was a crooked, narrow building wedged between two larger buildings and looked as though whoever had built the house had done so on a slant, for it leaned heavily to the left. Katar winced as he looked up at it. Who in the World lived in a house that looked like it would fall over at any second? He hesitated to follow, positive the house would be dangerous, but having little choice in the matter he stepped inside after his ragtag family. The inside of the house seemed just as tilted as the outside if not more so, and smelled strongly of damp gobball wool. Katar tried not to breathe through his nose.

"Isn't this exciting?" Serena whispered, yanking on Katar's arm.

"What's exciting about seeing a sick person?" he mumbled.

"Don't be so grim," Bandi hissed, standing rigidly as he held Henda's basket of tonics and medicines, his tail quivering with pride. "We get to see Mom at work, and she has some of the most noble work in the World."

Katar held back a grimace. He still couldn't see what was necessarily _exciting_ about it all. Important, that he could give them. Their mother's work was without a doubt important. But he didn't think there was anything at all exciting about it.

The slanted staircase creaked and Katar turned around to see an auburn-haired woman descending to the main hall, looking anxious and worried. Bandi, Estora and Serena all stood up a bit straighter, doing their best to look eager and ready to help, and Henda rushed forward to clasp the woman's hands comfortingly. Katar hung back near Pesh, hoping he wouldn't be noticed.

"Oh thank you for coming on such short notice!" the Cra sighed with relief. "I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Henda. But I didn't know who else to turn to that I would trust with my child's life."

"Please don't apologize, it's quite alright," the Eniripsa said soothingly. "We're happy to be of aid to you. Please show me to my patient."

"This way," said the other woman, and she turned back to go up the stairs again, motioning for Henda to follow. Katar was content to stay where he was, but when the two women were already halfway up the staircase Bandi started up after them, hissing at the rest of the kids to come with. Reluctantly the Sacrier child allowed himself to be dragged along by the younger Eniripsa, who of course wasn't about to miss a prime opportunity to learn. The floorboards groaned and bowed slightly in protest and he balked, suddenly twice as nervous.

"Come on, it's gonna be okay," Serena whispered, giving his arm a gentle tug. Up they climbed, the house growing darker and gloomier with each step, amping up Katar's restless anxiety. But finally the ragtag family's progression came to a halt outside an open door on the upper floor landing and Katar leaned forward a little to get a better look. Henda's children knew better than to get too close when she was with a patient, but stayed nearby in order to help if she needed them. Bandi and Estora lingered nearest the door now, eager to be of assistance. Serena was hesitant, clearly wanting to stick close to Katar after the previous week but not wanting to move too far away if her mother asked for her. Quietly, Katar leaned even further forward.

The Cra child lying in bed was the color of ash, breath coming in shallow, wheezy panting. Residue of pink, bloody froth lined colorless lips as small fingers twitched spasmodically, arms too heavy to lift and be of use. Dread and finality hung overhead as Henda's face grew more and more worried. The child was dying.

Katar stumbled slightly, nervous at the sight, and without warning he was overcome by a strange feeling. He was standing and yet he was lying in a bed. His entire body suddenly felt heavy, weighed down by an inexplicable soreness that had been there so long it had driven out all other sensation, save for the faint, painful beating of a heart behind his ribs. Phantom pains filled Katar and he stumbled backward, sucking in a deep breath to keep from sinking farther and drowning in the sensation.

"Katar!" Serena whispered in alarm, touching his shoulder, and the feeling of the young Cra's agony vanished, leaving the Sacrier child as quickly as it had come upon him. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the lingering soreness, and he became aware of his adopted siblings' gazes upon him. Heart hammering, he mumbled a hasty apology and bolted, scampering down the stairs as fast as he could move. But he didn't stop once he was on the lower floor. He kept running, bursting out of the front door and almost tripping onto his face in the street. He just managed to take the front steps at a jump and ran pell-mell to the fountain in the middle of the square, skidding to a halt before it and doubling over, breathing hard as he stared with huge eyes at his distorted reflection in the water's surface.

 _What the heck was that?!_ he thought in a panic, skinny arms trembling. He had no clue what exactly had happened or why, but he didn't like it one bit. It terrified him. He continued to shake, his gasps for breath gradually slowing into deep, methodic breathing. His own frightened face stared back up from the water, wondering what was wrong with him and how upset everyone would be with him when it was time to leave.

"You trying not to puke?"

A silhouette appeared on the surface of the water, rippling as the voice spoke. Katar's gaze moved to the strange shape, noting the overlarge ears and twitching nose before he finally raised his head to regard the one who made the remark. To his surprise it was an Ecaflip boy around his own age. At least, Katar thought the boy was an Ecaflip… but if so, he was an incredibly odd one, for he had no fur to speak of. Amber eyes shown bright as the other boy regarded him, evidently holding back a broad grin. In spite of himself, Katar managed a weak smile for the newcomer.

"Y-yeah, kind of," he admitted.

Now the Ecaflip's grin came out in full. "Eat something your stomach hates?" he asked, and this time Katar heard the heavy lisp that marked the boy's speech.

"No, not that," he answered, giving his head a small shake. "Just saw something that made me feel sick."

"Maybe letting yourself puke will help then," the boy remarked, hopping up on the lower rim of the fountain and perching in a crouch. "Better out than in, that's what everyone says. I'm Atcham, by the way. Who are you?"

"My name's Katar," he replied, relaxing when he realized how comfortable the other boy was talking to him. "Maybe it _would_ be better to just throw up. Then I won't feel so… _awful_."

"Maybe," Atcham gave a light shrug, his long tail swishing back and forth behind him as he watched the Sacrier. "You're not from here, are you?"

Katar shook his head. "No," he answered. "We're here visiting from our hometown because the lady that took me in has a sick patient to help."

He watched as his words registered with the other boy. Atcham's large yellow eyes blinked slowly, like he was taking the time to memorize what the Sacrier had said in order to remember it later. Absently he scratched at his nose and frowned. "You're here with others? Is the lady who took you in an Eniripsa?"

Katar blinked in surprise. "Y-yeah. Mama Henda takes in a lot of orphans. I've been staying with her and the other kids for about two years. How did you know she was an Eniripsa?"

"I guessed, based on what you said. After all, you said she was here to see a patient," the other boy answered casually. A second later he leaned in close, eyes gleaming. "Is that why you look so sick? Did you catch what they've got?"

He shook his head.

"Were you just scared?"

He scowled at the Ecaflip's question, though he worried it came off more like he was sulking. "No, I wasn't!" He glanced away and crossed his arms over his chest. "I was just… a little freaked out."

Atcham grinned knowingly. "Uh- _huh_. Whatever you say," he teased. Moments later he eased up, calm and friendly again. "So what are you up to now? Are you just gonna wait for them out here?"

"I guess so."

"But that could take hours for all you know! Just waiting would be boring!" Atcham protested. Then without missing a beat he asked, "Do you wanna swordfight with me?"

"Swordfighting?" Katar asked dubiously.

"Well, it's not gonna be _real_ swordfighting," Atcham clarified, twisting around and picking up two shaped rods of bamboo Katar hadn't seen before. "Just practice. I want to learn swordfighting. My teacher gave me these to train with. But I've not sparred with an opponent yet. Wanna try?"

He tossed one of the practice swords and Katar barely caught it, fumbling. It was hollow and much lighter than he was expecting. "Hey, that's not fair," he groused, pouting at the other boy. "I've not had any training."

"Maybe I can teach you," Atcham said, shrugging. Without warning he jumped and practically flew at Katar. The Sacrier let out a yelp of alarm and raised the length of the bamboo just in time to prevent catching the blow across his face. The second bamboo sword hit his with a loud cracking sound and smacked him hard across the knuckles. The sudden stinging pain shocked him to the bone and he scuttled backward, shaking one of his hands vigorously.

"Ooowww! That _hurt_ , Atcham!" He let out a small groan and stopped waving his hand to put his stinging knuckles into his mouth. Around them he tried to say, "You could have warned me!" but muffled by his hand, it sounded more like, "Oo uddav ar'd eee!"

The Ecaflip snickered, delighted by his reaction. "Maybe. But then it wouldn't be as fun!" He jumped again at the last word, swinging the bamboo in a long arc. It sailed down a good foot short of reaching Katar, but the Sacrier had reacted anyway, snapping his own weapon up fast and holding it ready before him. Atcham took a huge step forward, swinging his sword high, bringing it down in an overhead arc. Katar looked up, his eyes wide as he followed the sword's progress, and he swung his bamboo sword up to meet it as fast and with as much force as he could muster. The resulting crack of sound echoed around the square and the impact jarred them both, sending them wobbling at the knees.

"N-n-n-nice h-hit," Atcham managed to say. He shook himself like a bow wow trying to get water off itself, and it appeared to stop him from wobbling any worse. Katar shook his head, trying to get his vision to stop dancing.

"Y-y-yours w-was pr-pretty good too…" he stammered before vigorously shaking his head again and looking at the other boy in astonishment. "Do you train like this all the time just to learn swordfighting?"

The Ecaflip gave a noncommittal shrug and abruptly smacked the other practice sword out of Katar's grip, sending it sailing away to hit the ground. He gave a grin of amusement at the sound of another yelp from his opponent. "Maybe," he said nonchalantly, a sly grin on his face. "I might sleep and eat sometimes too."

Despite his annoyance at being clearly outmatched, Katar found himself smiling at that. Atcham was an odd boy but he was fun, and the Sacrier decided he liked him. It was strange to think he would make a friend aside from Serena, but it was a good kind of strange. With a grin, he ran to retrieve the practice sword, scooping it into his hands and trotting back.

"Come on, I wanna try this again!" he exclaimed, ears bouncing in excited anticipation. Atcham's eyes widened in surprise but he smiled, encouraged by the other boy's reaction.

"Okay, but first we've gotta fix your stance," he declared importantly. "If I want a real opponent who's a perfect match for me some day, you've got to learn this right."


End file.
